


Da Capo al Fine

by Ims0s0rry



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cheating, F/F, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: Alternative title: Everything Wrong with Roisa (Pre-Series Edition) and Why I Still Ship ItListen, I know Roisa is fucked up. There are so many reasons why they're not good for each other, rooted in their backstory, and that's even before we get into the heavy season 1 stuff. In this essay I willORMy best attempt at fleshing out what happened between Rose and Luisa's first meeting and Jane's insemination.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/gifts).



> I know, not an AU??? I will be getting back to weird, fluffy AU's very soon (because I guess it's what I do best?) but first, I needed to get this out of my system. I am not very confident in my ability to write angst, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated.
> 
> As always, thanks to Luthor for encouraging (enabling) me and giving me the best feedback. 
> 
> Happy (belated, belated) birthday, loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a drinking game! Take a drink every time I foreshadow something that will happen in the show, make a bad metaphor (take two drinks if they deal with lightning or electricity), someone asks "what's wrong?" and the other person responds "nothing" when there's obviously something wrong, and finish your drink when the word "mistake" is mentioned.
> 
> Hopefully by the end you'll be too close to dying from liver failure to realize that I completely fucked up the timeline!

They have known each other for nearly nine years now. Been together, on and off, for almost four of those. Rose says she knows her better than anyone else. It’s not as comforting as it should be, considering Rose technically doesn’t even exist. And all government records of one Clara Ruvelle have been destroyed. Despite Rose’s reassurances, in many ways, Luisa feels like she doesn’t know her at all. Sometimes Luisa will watch Rose doing something completely normal, like washing the dishes or frowning in thought while she reads, and wonder what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. Who she really is.

Luisa thinks back to before. Before Rose killed her father, before she was committed, before the insemination. She thinks of those snippets of truth Rose gave her in the oxytocin-laced stupor after they slept together. And how everything Rose told her in those rare unguarded moments finally made sense in one terrible dawning moment of realization.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s start at the beginning.

 

The first time it happens, Luisa thinks nothing of it. She is looking for some distraction from the siren song of alcohol. When Rose strides into the bar, she knows that she's the one she's going home with. She’ll look back at this and wonder if this was the purest form of Rose that she'd ever known, that night at the bar when neither of them had to pretend. But she can't change the past. What's done is done. But right then she has no qualms about heavy handedly seducing this stranger.

Luisa is not surprised when she wakes up alone in the seedy motel room she rented. She is quite familiar with one night stands. They were merely two women in a girl bar looking for very temporary company. So she's not bothered by the lack of a note or a number. She sighs as she brushes traces of powdered sugar off the bedspread before she packs up her things and checks out. Luisa figures she'll never see her again. What are the chances of lightning striking twice?

Which is why it's such a shock when Rose walks into one of their family dinners (which comprises mostly of their father tearing into Rafael) and Emilio announces that they're dating.

While her father and Raf are squabbling over which wine to order next, Luisa takes advantage of the distraction to pull Rose behind a pillar.

"You’re dating my father?" Luisa hisses.

Rose, aside from the initial disbelief, takes everything in stride. By which she completely disregards everything from last night. “What we did was a mistake.”

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, I have a girlfriend anyway," Luisa says, raising her chin defiantly. "Her name's Allison. She loves to have sex in bathrooms."

Rose’s throat bobs (Luisa vividly remembers hickeys blooming there the night before. She can barely make out the sheen of concealer now. Good stuff. She’ll need to ask her what brand she uses later) before she says, "Good. I'm glad."

When she leans in, her eyes flicking down, Luisa finds herself drawn in as well, hoping that despite everything, maybe she doesn’t mean what she says. But instead she raises a hand to Luisa’s collar and says, “You have…” She swallows. “Mashed potatoes on your shirt.”

Well, that’s the end of that particular strand of wishful thinking.

Luisa knows what to expect from previous experience with her father's ever-rotating stock of glamorous girlfriends. They’ll fawn over her and Rafael, want to bond through shopping or sailing or any other myriad of activities they think will win the two of them over so they can get one step closer to securing that diamond ring. Thankfully, most of the time, her father tires of them before it can get to that point. But Luisa and Rafael have perfected the glassy-eyed, slightly pitying smile that wards off the worst of these women’s attempts to ingratiating herself to them. Their names blur together: Gloria and Meredith and Brandi and Yvonne until they’re just a whirlwind of sharp acrylic nails and sharper smiles.

But she doubts she’ll be able to give Rose the same treatment. It’s hard to feign badly-veiled disinterest when you’ve slept with your father’s girlfriend.

...

The next few months are excruciating. 

Luisa is more or less independent from her father's money, a fact she's immensely proud of. She’s not  _ just  _ Emilio’s daughter, she’s Dr. Alver. She’s striking out on her own, forging her own path. She has her own career, her own condo, her own life away from the hotel. She uses this now as an excuse to stay away from the numerous events that her father invites her to.

But "I've got to work late that night" or "Allison's family has been planning this for months" or "emergency AA meeting" only work so many times.

And even then, she's still expected at the weekly family dinners no matter how busy she is because "family is everything." Things are fine when she addresses her father or Rafael and pointedly ignores Rose. It’s only uncomfortable when they’re forced to interact. Luisa can feel the tension thicken the air like a fog whenever she talks to Rose, even if it’s something as bland as a request to pass the pepper. Sometimes their hands will brush. Luisa always jerks back, as if scalded. She hates that Rose’s touch still makes her think of hitched moans and limber fingers.

 

“Why do you hate Rose?” Rafael asks her after dinner one night. They’ve moved up to his suite, sitting on the lounge chairs on the balcony and enjoying the occasional breeze. The Miami skyline twinkles in the foreground. He nurses a scotch, neat. She rolls a can of root beer, cold and slippery with condensation, between her palms.

“I don’t hate Rose,” she automatically says and then frowns. The truth is that she likes Rose. A bit too much. It would’ve been easier—fewer questions involved—if she’d simply confirmed his suspicions. 

“You hardly make eye contact. And when you do, you get this look. It’s like she’s personally wronged you.”

He’s mistaken. He’s confused her expression for vengeance when it’s just hunger. Hunger for something she can’t have.

“She’s fine. There’s just...something about her. I get the feeling that she’s going to break Dad’s heart.”

Raf snorts. “Dad’s the heartbreaker, not the heartbreakee.”

Luisa takes a sip before she says, “You never know. There’s a first time for everything.”

...

Every time she's roped into a party or some other social gathering, she spends only as much time as she needs to say hello and make some smalltalk, to avoid offending her father’s business partners or guests before she excuses herself for a quiet night in. She has to extend the courtesy to Rose, if only to keep up appearances. Luisa will give her a brittle smile and exchange the obligatory air kisses, trying hard not to react when their cheeks skim. Sometimes she’ll catch Rose looking at her afterwards, but it’s only ever a glance before they go back to their respective conversations.

It all comes to a breaking point one night. Luisa's left early, her face aching from all the fake smiling she's done. There's only so much she can do to sell the facade of a happy family before she needs a break. She sighs and leans against the wall of the elevator as it ascends to the private suites.

She's just started to fumble around in her clutch for her keycard when unbeknownst to her, Rose solidifies from the shadows and comes up behind her.

So Luisa jumps when Rose says, "You certainly left in a hurry."

She whirls around. "Rose! You scared me. What are you doing up here?"

"I forgot something in my suite."

"Oh. So I suppose you'll be heading back to the party then."

"No, I don't think so. I find these events so dreadfully dull."

Luisa chuckles dryly. "That's too bad. If you marry my father, you'll be attending plenty of them in the future."

Something flashes in Rose's eyes at her words. "We need to talk. About us."

Luisa sniffs. "There's nothing to talk about. There is no us. I didn’t know you were seeing my father at the time. You didn’t know who I was. An honest mistake. Won't happen again."

There’s a long silence. Rose stares at her, considering something.

It’s just verging on this side of uncomfortable when Rose whispers, "But what if I want it to?"

Luisa isn't sure she's heard her right. "What?"

Rose reaches up, her hand hesitant, and barely grazes her knuckles against Luisa’s cheek. The static shock sensation of her touch fades into a sharp pang of longing. Luisa turns her head to avoid leaning into her hand.

"Do you feel it too?" Rose breathes. "When we touch? It's been driving me crazy for months."

Luisa screws her eyes shut, trying to find her resolve, her rationality. "Are you out of your mind?" she hisses. "There are cameras in the halls. We can't do this here."

Rose grins at her, just a hint of tongue poking out from between her teeth as she holds up Luisa’s keycard. Luisa furrows her brow and paws through her clutch in distraction. When had Rose been able to take it from her?

Rose leans forward, pressing against Luisa to slip the keycard into its slot. "Why don't we take this inside then?" she murmurs as the lock clicks.

Suddenly there’s nothing but open space at Luisa’s back and she stumbles backwards.

Rose moves, her usual grace accented with something dangerous, following her inside and draping her arms around her waist, pulling Luisa flush against her to stop her from falling. The door swings shut with a whisper.

“Now then, what were we in the middle of?”

“Uh…” After months of only the barest hints of contact, being held by Rose is overwhelming. Her skin is buzzing with her touch. She can’t think clearly, let alone form a coherent sentence.

To make matters worse, Rose dips her head to brush her lips so gently against the corner of her mouth she half-wonders if she imagined it. Luisa tries to stifle a gasp.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want me and I'll never bring it up again," Rose whispers against her skin. Their lips barely touch as her mouth forms the words. Luisa feels a spark jump in her chest everytime it happens. She knows, vaguely, that she should say no. They’re both seeing other people, one of whom is Luisa’s father. 

"I...this is wrong," Luisa protests weakly. She can feel her will crumbling even as she says it.

"Yes." Rose doesn't move, waiting for her to make a decision. The brush of her lip, the heat of her breath as she says that one word finally catches. After months of trying to extinguish this yearning, Luisa feels something very small, but damnable nonetheless, reignite. 

She tilts her chin up the tiniest bit and kisses her.

She's hoping, she's praying that last time was just a fluke. That sleeping with Rose wasn't as great as she remembered. That this is just something to get out of her system, like Rose had said when they realized who the other was. But she's wrong. If anything, it’s better the second time around now that they have an idea of they like to build on.

That doesn’t mean they know everything about each other’s preferences though.

Luisa’s breath catches as Rose’s blunt fingernails dig into her hips to anchor herself.

Rose eases up immediately. “Too much?”

“No. No, I’m good. Do it again.”

 

Rose twists under her, one shoulder digging into the mattress and the other jutting upward, like the confines of her body are too small to hold the intensity of pleasure coursing through her.

Luisa slows, pauses to admire the havoc she’s wreaked on usually such a stoic figure. The whimpers, the flush creeping down her neck, the heaving chest. She wishes she could take a photo, but Rose’s hands snake through her hair and pull, just enough to ache. “Don’t. Don’t you dare stop.”

She throws her head back as Luisa resumes. “Just a little more.” She hisses. “Yes, right there. Right there. A little to the left. No, my left. Oh...yes.”

Her whole body strains, before she sighs, relaxing in languor.

It's easy to forget about other people, about what a bad idea this is, when Rose looks this sated. 

It isn't until she's watching Rose get dressed with drowsy eyes that she realizes the full effects of her decision. It’s even worse than knowingly choosing to sleep with her father’s girlfriend again, because now she won’t be able to stop. Luisa has an addictive personality. Her impulsivity and thrill-seeking and poor coping skills all contribute to why she turned to alcohol in the first place. She’s hoping that Rose’s novelty wears off soon and she can turn to something less destructive to occupy herself with.

If once is a mistake, twice is a pattern.

But to restrain herself? To stop this before it becomes a full-fledged habit? She’s not sure if she has the willpower to do that. Thank goodness for her natural smarts because she’s never been able to push herself to study or put in very much effort for anything. Her classmates in med school that could motivate themselves to sit in front of a textbook for hours at a time and actually earn their grades never ceased to amaze her. She’s tried to do the same, to string up her own carrot to work towards many many times, but there’s always a little voice that whispers, “Yeah, you’re trying to quit drinking. But what about just a taste? What’s the worst that could happen?”

But now that she’s deliberately crossed a line with Rose and hasn’t woken up in a gutter in Nicosia without any memory of the past week or any other dire consequences, she's not going to be able to stop. She won’t be able to rest until she finds that high again.

...

Surprisingly, things are less stilted between them after that. It's hard to be awkward around someone you share a life-ruining secret with. Her father is beyond pleased to have them warming up to each other.

He makes a toast one night during dinner. “To my girls getting along.”

Luisa half-heartedly clinks her glass against everyone else’s.

Rose’s eyes flash to hers. She winks. No one else catches it.

Luisa tries not to blush. Sure, getting along. That’s one way of putting it.

 

She doesn't bring up a next time. Rose seems content enough to leave things as is.

Except...

It’s been weeks.

Rose will give her a smirk whenever no one else is looking but that’s the extent of it. And Luisa is starting to get that prickling in her bones that will swell into a full-body craving. It’s a sensation she knows well. No matter how long she’s been sober: days, months, years, she’ll never be free of it. But it’s not alcohol she’s thirsting for this time.

At first, she thought it was just the physical contact. She’s been channeling all her frustration into sex with Allison, and it’s been great, but there’s something missing there.

There’s something electrifying when she’s with Rose.

She has to see if she can replicate it.

 

One night at some function, she pulls Rose away from a boring conversation full of meaningless words.

"Excuse me, could I borrow her for a second? Thanks." Luisa steers Rose away from the others.

When they’re out of earshot, Rose gives her a wary look. "What is it?"

Now that Luisa has her, she isn't sure how to proceed. "I...I was wondering when I'd be able to see you again," she says, her voice small.

Regardless of their seclusion, Rose glances around her sharply. "Let's go outside for this." She takes her by the wrist and pulls her out to the courtyard. She checks to make sure they’re quite alone before she whispers, "You can't just talk about this in the open."

Luisa scoffs. "Now you're the one asking for discretion. You didn't seem to care last time."

Rose swallows. "Which was a mistake."

That stings like a slap. She is tired of being called a mistake, a fuck-up, a disaster. She’s tired of having everyone waiting for her to slip up, like it’s a given, like she’s never capable of making good choices without a relapse sometime in the near future. She’s tired of not being taken seriously despite all she’s achieved, of having everyone treat her like something fragile. She’s tired of being seen as a flight risk, always being passed up in favor of safer, more stable prospects. When is she going to be someone’s first choice? 

(Rafael insists that their father dotes on her. She doesn’t see it. He might be less harsh on her than he is on Raf, but that hardly matters. Not when he doesn’t  _ see _ her. Dismisses her concerns with “you’re a smart girl, Luisa, you’ll figure it out” or “I don’t understand how this could happen to you. Can’t you just get over it? It’s not that hard.”)

But mostly, in this moment, she is tired of having Rose change her mind, seek her out only to go back to saying it didn’t mean anything. Her indignation makes her bold.

"Really?" Luisa says, her voice barely louder than a sigh. She places one hand lightly on Rose's hipbone over her white dress.

"Luisa..." Rose says in a low voice. A warning.

"No one's out here. And besides, this can totally be seen as platonic."

"I doubt that," Rose says, but she does not brush her hand off or back away from her.

"And that's what we have, isn't it? A proper relationship between a man's daughter and the woman he's dating. Completely platonic."

"Yes," Rose says, her voice slightly strained. "There's nothing between us."

Luisa raises an eyebrow. "You seemed to have thought differently last time."

"These things change," Rose says, but her voice catches when Luisa drifts her fingers over thin linen to splay over to Rose’s abdomen.

Well two can play at this game.

"Okay," Luisa says, dropping her hand and stepping backward.

Rose seems almost...disappointed? Definitely relieved.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind."

She doesn't miss Rose’s shuddering sigh as she leaves her alone in the courtyard.

 

Over the next few weeks, Luisa makes sure to drive Rose to distraction every time they're in the same room. It's mostly cheesy high school antics. A plunging neckline, a pair of yoga pants she knows makes her ass look amazing, walking with a very exaggerated sway in her hips, flipping her hair whenever she passes Rose.

Luisa can see the effect that she has on her, if only barely. Rose's mouth will tighten, something exasperated but also wanting in her expression.

When it's been bordering on three weeks and Rose still hasn't given in, Luisa decides to up the ante. One night during their weekly family dinner, in the middle of a spirited discussion with Rafael on Black Widow’s representation in the Marvel comics vs the movies or tv-show spinoffs, she makes her move.

Their father ignores them. He’s very used to the juvenile topics his adult children insist on fixating on.

“I wish they would’ve explored more of Dottie’s background in  _ Agent Carter _ . It seems like such a missed opportunity to see more of the Black Widow program,” Luisa says as she very deliberately slides her foot up Rose's calf.

Rose spills her gazpacho all over herself.

"Darling!" Emilio exclaims, grabbing napkins. “Are you alright?”

"It's fine," Rose says, accepting his napkins and dabbing at her blouse. "The soup was a little warmer than I thought it would be."

Luisa looks at her with concern. "Are you sure you’re okay?"

Rose bares her teeth at her, her eyes flashing. "Absolutely."

Unfortunately they're not at the hotel today or else Rose would just be able to go upstairs to change.

"Do you want to take a cab home?" Emilio asks.

"It's not a problem," Rose says. "Excuse me. I’ll just freshen up in the ladies room."

Luisa can taste victory. She moves to stand up. "Do you need any help?"

Rose places her hand on her shoulder and presses her to sit back down. Even now, Luisa can feel the charge between them. "That's not necessary."

For the first time, Luisa wonders if maybe she read Rose wrong. Is she bored by her? Are they really done?

Luisa backs off over the next week. And when Rose makes no move to pursue her, she gives up. She's not over her, not by a long shot, but she won't chase after someone who isn’t interested.

 

So she’s moping, bingeing her vast collection of happy ending lesbian films (it consists of five movies) and crying into a bag of salt and vinegar chips when there's a knock on the door. She blows her nose like a trumpet and shuffles over to the door. She’s not expecting anyone. And no one can get into the condo complex without a key fob. The only other people who have one are Allison, her father, and Rafael.

"Oh!" she says when she opens the door, sniffing hard to get rid of the congestion. Rose is on her doorstep. "How'd you get in here?"

Rose holds up a key fob. "I borrowed this from your father."

"What for?"

"To see you."

"Why?”

Rose shifts from foot to foot, looking distinctly awkward. It's the least elegant, most human thing Luisa's seen from her. She loves it. "Can I come in?"

Luisa steps aside.

Rose sweeps inside and Luisa can't help but close her eyes and inhale, savoring the faintest hint of her distinctive perfume as it washes over her in Rose’s wake.

When she lets the door slice shut, Rose is facing away from her, wringing her hands. Luisa folds her arms. "So what's this about?" She tries for nonchalant but her heart is beating a staccato tattoo against her sternum.

"I'm trying to talk myself out of doing something very stupid. Again. It's not going very well."

Luisa laughs. "You've come to the wrong place. I can barely keep myself in check."

Rose nods, her expression pained. "I know. I didn't come here to be convinced."

"What did you come for?"

"You," Rose says and then in two quick strides, she's holding her face and pulling her into a searing kiss. "You'll be the death of me," she whispers against her mouth.

Something in Luisa is soaring. Triumph tastes like mango and waxy lipstick and something heavy like guilt, but it’s easy enough to ignore that in favor of tilting her head and having Rose hum against the delicate skin of her throat.

 

It’s started to pour by the time they part. Luisa watches the ceiling fan spin lazily, feeling the sweat cool on her skin as she listens to the rain beat against the windows. Rose is curled up on the other side of the bed, her eyelashes flickering, almost asleep.

She’ll blame it on the hormones later, that make her floppy, happy, reckless. She forgets they hardly know each other.

“Is this going to keep happening?” Luisa asks before she can think better of it.

Rose sighs and rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as well. “No matter how hard I try to stay away, I always end up coming back to you. I think it’s fair to say that yes, it’ll keep happening.”

Part of Luisa bristles at Rose’s despondent tone, but then she remembers that they’re both choosing to be unfaithful. She never thought she’d be one to cheat. Maybe this is how all affairs start, with people swearing they’d never do it but not saying no when the opportunity presents itself. The thought makes her feel grimy. But there’s also a sick sense of satisfaction that Rose is just as captivated by her as she is by Rose. They’re both locked in a systematic pattern of mutual devastation.

Luisa gets up on her side, her elbow propped under her cheek to gaze at Rose. “We should come up with a code word.”

Rose raises her eyebrows.

“People can’t find out. We need to be careful.” Luisa tries not to sound too hopeful. There’s still the possibility that Rose will shoot her down and say that it was another lapse in judgment. But oh, she hopes she doesn’t.

But Rose nods. “You can’t drag me away and touch me like that in public. People will figure it out.”

“Fine.” She has no reason to be upset about that since she’s successfully lured Rose back into bed. “So what’s the plan?”

Rose snorts. “This isn’t some kind of heist.”

Luisa smirks and tilts her head. “I don’t know. Sneaking behind my father’s back? Nefarious.”

Rose swallows. “Yes.”

Before Rose can get too broody though, Luisa clears her throat. “I was thinking donuts.”

“What?”

“When one of us wants to meet up, we’ll just text each other like ‘got a craving for donuts’ or something. That’ll be the code word.”

Rose gives her a wry smile. It’s not the picture-perfect one she flashes outside the courtroom or to play the stunning girlfriend to Emilio’s potential business partners, nor is it the dazzling simper she gives Emilio himself. It looks real. Luisa feels her throat tighten at being its sole recipient, as far as she knows.

“It’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “what did you come for?” “you” bit is a canon piece of dialogue from Once Upon a Time, which isn’t even the gayest thing that was said in the first season of a show that refused to admit that neither Emma Swan nor Regina Mills was completely heterosexual.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few months, they stick to their routine. They do not touch each other, except when they occasionally brush when they pass by each other. Every time this happens, Luisa can’t help but flinch. It's a reflex, like they’re about to be caught together.

“Relax. You’re much more suspicious if you can’t stand to be in my company without twitching,” Rose once murmurs to her.

“I don’t twitch,” Luisa says.

Rose reaches up and runs a finger under Luisa’s eye. Luisa scrambles backwards, away from her. “What are you doing?”

Rose raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You had an eyelash on your cheek.” She holds it out to her. “Make a wish.”

“I wish you weren’t so infuriating,” Luisa growls before she blows the eyelash away.

Rose laughs. “No such luck.”

 

It becomes a game between them. Who can make the other jump using the most innocuous of gestures.

Luisa accuses Rose of cheating when she creeps behind her and pokes her in the ribs.

“That wasn’t fair,” she says hours later, trying to hold onto her edge of resentment as Rose nips at an ear. “I’m ticklish! That doesn’t count.”

“It does too,” Rose murmurs against the skin under her ear. “If you did the same thing to me, I wouldn’t so much as blink.”

“What do you mean?” Luisa runs her fingers up and down Rose’s side experimentally. Rose does not pause in her kisses. “You’re not even ticklish? That’s doubly not fair!”

She hums, the sound laced with a chuckle. "Nope. Although I really enjoyed that squeaking sound you made. I wonder where else you're ticklish?"

Luisa glares at her. "I can make you squeak too."

"I'd like to see you try," she says, haughty.

If there's one thing Luisa can't turn down, it's a challenge, especially if it’s someone telling her she can’t do something. It’s gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion. "Oh, you're on," she growls, pushing Rose flat on her back.

Rose just looks up at her with that small, wry smile.

 

Later, Luisa lays on her side and stares at Rose’s naked back. It shouldn't be an issue for her to reach out and trace the rounded curve of her spine that she’s been eyeing for the past ten minutes with a finger. But despite their arrangement, this somehow feels more intimate than sex. She eyes the spray of freckles dotted across the expanse of skin, trying to make constellations out of them. That one there could be Hydra. That other one an upside down Cassiopeia. The temptation builds and builds until it feels like she's holding back instead of screwing up the courage to lift her hand and press it against Rose’s skin.

Everything is amplified. It sounds like a thunderclap when she swallows before she lets out a breath. She reaches up and lays a clammy fingertip on a faint raised scar under one shoulder blade. Rose immediately tenses up. Luisa doesn't move, doesn't breathe for a moment.

"Do you...do you mind?" she croaks.

"No," Rose murmurs, no trace of sleep evident in her voice. Every muscle under her skin ripples as they loosen again. Luisa wishes she could whisper their names against her back: trapezius, infraspinatus, latissimus dorsi.

Instead, she spends a long time gently tracing patterns on her fair, dappled skin.

"Do you like your freckles?" Luisa asks softly. Everything is still too silent. Her question echoes.

Rose makes an “I don't know” noise. "I haven't thought about them. They've always just been a part of me."

"I love them," she says, but not with too much exuberance. Rose, for all her forwardness in bed, becomes silent and withdrawn afterwards. It’s a miracle she’s stayed this long as is instead of getting dressed and leaving immediately. Luisa doesn't want to spook her. "My grandma always wanted me to stay out of the sun and retain my complexion. She always had to chase me down whenever I wanted to go outside to slather me with sunscreen. I never understood why. Flawlessness, perfection, to me is like a blank canvas. It’s fine, but it’s also very ordinary. Boring to look at. A mark is a synonym for blemish, but also for character. There are stories to tell there. Different interpretations." She continues to map the stars she’s made on her skin.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding constellations. This one's Vulpecula, the fox. This one over here’s Canes Venatici, the hunting dogs. This is the Phoenix. That’s pretty self-explanatory." She pauses over the scar. Rose moves almost imperceptibly; she can see the line of her forearm shift as a muscle flexes. "This one is Circinus, the compass," she says, tracing over the sharp, jagged shape of it. She wants to ask how she got it but she feels like this is overstepping her bounds as it is. So she continues on, her fingers dancing over different scars, moles, freckles, all the things that dot the span of her back.

“Did you know I can tell your fortune from the constellations on your back?”

Rose laughs. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. My grandma taught me.”

“How? You don’t have any freckles.”

“Never mind that. Do you wanna know or not?”

“I’ll humor you,” Rose says. Luisa can hear the smile in her voice.

She brushes her fingers across the skin right under the back of her neck. Goosebumps rise, trailing her touch. “These form Corona Borealis, the northern crown. You’ve set your ambitions high and nothing will stop you from reaching your goal.” Her fingers drift to the right. “This is Vela, the sails. You are exceptionally well traveled. You love to seek out new experiences. You aren’t content with a singular corner of the world. You want to see it all.” She presses her fingertips to the next constellation. “Scorpius,” she says softly. “You are a force to be reckoned with when provoked. Are you a Scorpio by any chance?”

“I was born in January.”

Luisa nods. “I’ll get into that another time.” She touches the skin to the left of Rose’s spine. “This is Monoceros, the unicorn.” She pauses. “This just means you’re gay.”

Rose snorts. “That’s not fortune telling. You already knew that.”

“ _I_ know that, but sometimes I wonder if you do.”

Rose doesn’t reply.

The silence weighs down on them.

Luisa closes her eyes and sighs. It’s just like her to ruin what was supposed to be a fun activity with a comment that hits too close to home. Luisa continues on, hoping to salvage the mood. She runs her knuckles down to a dimple at the small of her back. “Corvus, the raven. Fiercely intelligent and playful, despite their reputation for being harbingers of death.”

Rose stiffens under her hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You’ve caught me by surprise. You’re very good at this.” She pauses. “For someone who’s making it all up.”

Luisa scoffs. “This is a highly scientific art, I’ll have you know.”

“Mmhmm. Any other notable ones?”

There’s one she’s eyeing but she doesn’t want to be the killjoy again. “No.”

Rose huffs. “That’s it? Nothing about my future?”

“Well, there is one left.” Luisa hesitates before she circles a spot above Rose’s right hip bone. “Ara,” she says simply.

“You’ll need to clarify for me. I’m not quite as well-versed in Latin or the stars as you are.”

“The altar. It’s a symbol of...of sacrifice.”

Neither of them say anything for a while. Luisa counts Rose’s breaths, hardly audible, through the rise and fall of her ribcage.

At 36, Rose turns over to face her.

Luisa swallows. Talking to her back was easier. Now Rose’s piercing eyes are regarding her and she can't tell what she's thinking. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Rose says, her eyes still flicking across her face, her expression unreadable.

They stare at each other. Luisa is growing restless but refuses to be the first to look away.

Finally Rose whispers, "Luisa, what are we doing?"

She tucks an errant curl behind Rose’s ear and trails her hand down the line of her jaw. "Being stupid," she says softly.

...

During the day, Rose is guarded. She carries herself like a fortress. Luisa can hardly get anything, work gossip or childhood escapades, out of her. But she learns that at night, under the cover of darkness, is when Rose is emotional, when she’s likely to leak simple facts that Luisa hoards and tries to piece together to figure out who she really is.

“You make me vulnerable,” Rose confesses to her in the safety of the night. “Lines blur when I’m with you. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Why can’t you be yourself?”

She can hear the frown in her voice when Rose says, “It’s not that simple. No one could love me as I really am.”

Luisa threads their fingers together and presses a kiss to Rose’s knuckles. “God, you’re so dramatic,” she says fondly.

There’s a pause before Rose whispers, “It terrifies me. You terrify me.”

“Me?” Luisa laughs. “What would someone like you ever have to be scared of someone like me?”

Rose rolls onto her side to look at her. Luisa can barely make out the glint of her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were voted Most Successful Prosecuting Attorney in the state of Florida, three years running. What was it they called you? The Irish Gator? Because once you got a bite you never let go. I remember hearing you held the record for making grown men cry on the witness stand.”

“But they’re all so insignificant. And they’re men. They don’t matter.”

Luisa doesn’t bring up that Rose is in a committed relationship with a man right now.

Instead, she says, “And me? I’m the least intimidating person ever. I dressed up as a supervillain last Halloween and all the kids laughed at me.”

“Oh? This I have to see.”

Luisa grabs her phone from the nightstand and pulls up a photo. “I thought I looked badass.”

“Mmm, I think you look downright frightening. It’s such a turn-on.”

“You’re just saying that to get me into bed.”

Rose chuckles. “We’re already in bed. I have such a weakness for villainesses. Those severe braids? That scar? The missing eye? So sexy.”

Luisa leans over her and kisses her. “You are so gay.”

Rose grins. “You bring it out in me.”

...

Sometimes, after Rose has fallen asleep, Luisa will push herself to stay awake just to study her. The polished, poised face she puts on to entertain is just that, a mask. In her sleep, at her most vulnerable, Rose frowns. Her hands are clenched into fists. There are lines around her mouth and furrowing her brow. Luisa wonders if she knows she’s so tense when she sleeps, if she’s already invested in wrinkle creams to counteract the effects. She wonders what Rose is so worried about that she can’t find relief even in the respite of sleep. Is their infidelity more taxing on her psyche than she’s letting on? Is her workload getting to be too much? Is her relationship with her father on the rocks? Luisa hates herself for the spike of anticipation that runs through her at the thought.

But mostly, she wonders how she can miss someone when they’re right next to her. Why does her chest ache—constricting her lungs—for Rose, even now? She wants to be closer to her. Closer than touching. Luisa wants to drown in her, sink into her until their rib cages are entwined and the only way she can breathe is when Rose breathes out, in tandem.

She’s being greedy, she knows. She should be happy with what she has, even amid the guilt and fear. Stolen moments with Rose are better than pining for her over a table during family dinners or no Rose in her life at all, right? Logically, she knows this, but emotionally? She wants more. Always more.

 

For the most part, she can deal with it. It’s fine. But as time goes on, Luisa notices that while she's at Rose's beck and call whenever she mentions donuts, even going so far as taking an extended break between patients when Rose calls for her, Rose is far less generous with her time. Sometimes she'll wait an entire week before she'll agree to meet when Luisa's the one initiating.

"What's going on?" Luisa asks as Rose pulls her into the house. She has to get her words out before Rose can distract her. "Why did you wait so long to come up with a time?”

Rose plucks at Luisa’s pencil skirt and frowns when she doesn't help her.

"Whenever you ask for me, I'm always there within a few hours max. But you'll wait days before I can see you. Why are we always doing this on your terms? I want an answer before we have sex."

Rose gives the skirt another half-hearted tug before she huffs. "I've got limited time when your father's away."

"So do I! You're not the only one in a relationship here."

"Yes, but things are getting serious. I think he's going to propose."

It's not like Luisa didn't have an idea. She's pretty familiar with the model. It had been niggling at the back of her mind for a while now, but she'd been so caught up in being with Rose that she'd forgotten that her father tends to propose around the six month mark of the relationship. They'll be married within the year. Her stomach drops.

"Do you love him?"

"I...yes." And Luisa might've only known Rose for barely six months, but she knows her well enough to know when she's lying.

"Why am I here then?"

Something shutters behind Rose's eyes. "Please, can't we just keep this easy?"

One last time, Luisa thinks to herself as Rose undresses her with frantic, desperate movements. One last time and she's done for good.

It's not the first time she's told herself this lie.

 

Rose is more a force of nature than a person, Luisa thinks. She is as vast and as capable of being owned as the moon. But she hates that whereas her father can casually slip a hand around Rose’s waist or kiss her whenever the urge strikes him, she’ll never have that privilege. She’ll never be able to act on the thunderous swell of affection that strikes her sometimes when she’s with Rose. Not in public.

She wishes she could break off a piece of what her father has, hold some physical proof of her and Rose’s relationship in her hands, and treasure it instead of staring and wanting.

Sometimes she’s rougher than she intends. The wanting overwhelms her until she drags her nails across skin, leaving marks, or squeezes and pinches, just to believe that Rose is here; Rose is real. But no matter how many times she tries to assure herself of this fact, the truth remains that Rose is a fistful of sand. The tighter Luisa tries to hold on, the faster she trickles through her fingers.

“Mine,” she whispers in the darkness, just to hear herself say it.

“Yes,” Rose sighs, but it doesn’t mean anything. Mere words, that’s all. They don’t change anything.

Rose shakes under her, gasping, straining against her. “Please,” she breathes. “Please, Luisa, please, I can’t, I want…” She keens, high and thin.

This is all she has of Rose, these moments when she cries out for her.

It makes her want to sob.

This should be enough for her, to be able to touch Rose at all and feel her sigh in response. But it’s not.

Luisa isn’t naive enough to call it love. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. Love should be open and honest instead of secret and anxious. What they have is passionate and needy, but it’s not love. It’s lonely and twisted and fueled by envy. Nothing about this relationship is healthy.

This is not love. It is not tender. It is a soft sort of ruin.

 

Luisa tries, she really does, to quit Rose. Being with Rose is nothing as hackneyed as scratching an itch. Being with Rose is something coarse, pointless, but gratifying in the moments that it lasts. Being with her is like picking at a scab. Luisa knows that there’s no use in picking at something that’s trying to heal. She could tell you in detail, about all the cellular processes that make up a healing wound. But that doesn’t stop her from digging her nails under and ripping it off anyway and leaving a scar just for the temporary satisfaction.

The longest she can make it is a few weeks before she’s back to seeking Rose out. Her guilt makes her treat Allison to expensive nights out and jewelry and once, a week long cruise to Alaska.

Rose had not been happy when she’d gotten back. “What makes you think that you can just run off with your little girlfriend whenever you feel like it?” she’d snarled before sinking blunt teeth into Luisa’s shoulder, just hard enough to make her shudder.

Rose is always so distant and aloof in every other way. Luisa is starting to hate that veneer of polite friendliness with a passion. She wants Rose as codependent on her as she is on Rose. This is the only way she knows to make Rose care about her. How fucked up is that? That she has to provoke Rose to make herself feel wanted. This is the only way she knows to make Rose present, when they’re rocking against each other, gasps and rumpled sheets.

They curl around each other afterwards, Luisa running her fingers through Rose’s hair as Rose listens to her heartbeat return to normal. Once Luisa gets her breath back, she says, “That’s the thing though. She’s my girlfriend. But us? On paper, we’re nothing to each other.”

Rose sighs. They lay in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts, for a very long time.

 

Luisa tries to force herself into thinking that this thing, whatever she and Rose have, is enough. But no matter how many times she tries to tell herself this, it never becomes true. Her jealousy gets the better of her.

They fight all the time. Always about the same thing.

“What do you want from me?” Rose asks, throwing her arms up. “We’re stuck. I’m seeing your father. Even if I broke up with him, can you imagine what would happen if we started dating? We couldn’t exactly go public.”

Luisa bites her tongue. In a perfect world, they’d leave their significant others for each other and no one would bat an eye. But she knows that’ll never happen. “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I just want something more than all this sneaking around.”

Rose shoots her an exasperated look. “That’s the definition of an affair. You knew that when we started this.”

“I know, I know!” Luisa runs a hand through her hair. “God, I know.” She shakes her head. “I’m just trying to clear the air between us. I know I don’t have the right to feel this way, but I do and I don’t know how to stop.” She collapses onto the couch and buries her face in her hands.

Rose sighs, all the frustration bleeding out of her and sits next to her, rubbing her shoulders. “Me too, darling.”

“Don’t call me that,” Luisa says, raising her head to look at her with beseeching eyes. “You call him darling.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t.” Rose leans their foreheads together. “And I’m also sorry. That we had to meet like this. In any other situation we could be happy together.”

Luisa tries to laugh, but it’s closer to a sob. “Are you sure? For the most part, we just have a lot of sex. There doesn’t seem to be much to base a relationship on. How do you even know what we have right now wouldn’t fall apart without the intrigue and thrill of getting caught? Maybe that’s all this is.”

Rose scowls, but as if to prove Luisa’s point, presses against her and kisses her. Luisa lets out another sob as their mouths move together.

“I would kill for you,” Rose says fiercely, clutching at her.

“But not leave him for me,” Luisa whispers.

Rose buries her face in her hair and gasps. If Luisa didn’t know better, she’d say it almost sounded like a sob of her own.

...

Rose brings up a request a week later. “Do you want to go on a date?”

“Hmm?” Luisa’s right on the edge of sleep but she snuggles closer, draping an arm over Rose’s waist.

“Emilio’s gone on a business trip to Taiwan and there’s a fundraiser coming up that I have to make an appearance at, for the firm. Do you...do you want to go with me?”

Luisa struggles to stay awake. “You’d bring me as your plus one? In public?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Yeah.”

 

The fundraiser is a gala. It’s expensive and glittery and an absolute blur. Luisa couldn’t tell you afterwards what it was for or who else was there for the life of her. The only thing she notices is that Rose is resplendent in a gown of very deep black, interspersed with tiny crystals that sparkle whenever she moves.

Rose talks to all the right people, Luisa on her arm and introduces her simply as her date. No one asks any invasive questions.

For one lovely evening, she loses herself in pretending that this is real. This is as good as it’s going to get, she thinks, watching the long line of Rose’s throat as she throws her head back and laughs at some dumb joke a man has made. She still can’t kiss her or show any other easy gestures of affection in public, but it’s good enough. Better than what she’s used to. Better than what they have right now.

When Rose drops her off, Luisa leans over the the console and presses a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek. “Thank you,” she says shyly. “This was nice.”

But Rose must see something melancholy in her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I had a good time.”

“Come on, what is it? You’re not happy.”

“No, I am. I just...wish it could be like this more often. Which I know can’t happen. I’m being silly. Don’t worry about it.”

Rose frowns.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I really did have a good time. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Rose repeats. She tries to give her an encouraging smile but it’s only half there. She’s somewhere else again.

 

A few weeks later, at a family dinner, her father brings up an interesting topic.

“So Luisa, how would you feel about a girls’ getaway?”

Luisa looks up from her plate, where she’s been making a fort out of her lasagna, and blinks.  “Sorry, what now?”

“A girl’s getaway. For two weeks. Just you and Rose. I’ve noticed you two have been rather distant lately.”

Luisa chances a glance at Rose. This has to be her doing. Her father wouldn’t have noticed unless he’d walked in on them in the middle of a fistfight. Rose smiles encouragingly, rubbing her father’s back. There’s a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.

“To the villa in Italy. If you’re willing?” Her expression is so earnest.

“I...would have to clear it with my supervisor first,” Luisa hedges.

“Nonsense,” Emilio says. “They’ve never had an issue with you taking off before. They’re quite accommodating. If they didn’t, you wouldn’t have a job, what with all the episodes you’ve had.”

She winces.

He doesn’t notice. He turns to Rafael. “And while they’re off in Italy, how about a boy’s trip of our own, Raf? We’ll go deep-sea fishing off the coast of Baja California.”

The way Rafael’s face lights up is almost painful to watch. Luisa knows for a fact he doesn’t even like fishing. “When? I’ll clear my calendar.”

“Fantastic. Quality family time for everyone!”

And that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please read [Flame That Came for Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213506) by Luthor if you haven’t, which I have gently stolen from here and in the next chapter. It is hauntingly gorgeous. Or gorgeously haunting. Both. It ruined my life (but everything Luthor writes ruins my life.)


	3. Chapter 3

As her father had predicted, the hospital is more than happy to let her take two weeks off, despite Luisa subtly wording that she’d rather they wouldn’t. Most of her craves Rose fiercely: wants to hold her, touch her, be alone with her. But she knows that it won’t change anything. She’s so tired of chasing after someone she doesn’t have a future with. It doesn’t stop her from wanting though.

The flight there is quiet. The drive there is quiet. It’s only when they hesitate at the top of the staircase to decide which rooms they’ll be taking that the tension snaps.

Rose flings her bag off to the side and pushes Luisa up against the nearest wall, desperate hands and desperate mouth on hers. And Luisa arches into her, feeling her something in her loosen despite her reservations.

 

The first few days are just a lot of sex: in the shower, in the wine cellar, on the kitchen counter. In the first 84 hours, they’ve christened nearly every surface possible in the villa. After that, the frenzy fades into something more manageable, more sustainable.

It’s easy to fall into pretending with Rose, Luisa finds.

She takes Rose into the nearby village and they buy fresh vegetables at the market. They make dinner from scratch and sing along to 80s pop ballads.

At breakfast, Rose twirls Luisa as Frank Sinatra croons, “And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you” while eggs sizzle on the stove.

They sit at the fire pit’s edge in the back, having the time and the luxury to talk about everything and nothing at all, and watch the sunset set the mountains ablaze.

Luisa will reach over and take Rose’s hand while they’re on a walk or pull her in for a kiss at random moments, just because she can.

They pick blackberries and bake ugly, lumpen pastries and smear sticky, sugary paste on each other’s faces and kiss it clean with laughing mouths.

And here, finally away from the constant threat of discovery, Luisa takes the time to find all the places that make Rose tremble. She’ll shiver everytime Luisa brushes her lips against the inside of her wrist.

The romantic in Luisa wishes desperately that this could be real. Away from Miami, she feels safer, freer. It’s clear that Rose feels the same way. Luisa likes this version of her. She’s more...real.

 

Luisa catches her drawing on the garden patio one morning.

“I didn’t know you drew,” she says, bringing out two cups of coffee and sitting across from her. She wracks her brain for anything her father might’ve said about Rose’s artistic ability, but nothing comes to mind.

Rose doesn’t try to hide the drawing, but she doesn’t show her either. Her eyes are wide, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. “I-I don’t.”

Luisa tilts her head so she can look at it upside down. “You’re pretty good for someone who never draws.” It’s a sketch of Luisa’s profile. She’s impressed at the way she’s managed to capture her likeness, and from memory at that.

Rose works her jaw, measuring her words carefully before she says, “It’s a hobby I haven’t picked up in a long time.”

Luisa takes a sip of her coffee. “You should do it more often. Maybe draw me like one of your French girls.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

They both know it won’t happen. It’d be too risky if someone found something like that.

But Rose laughs anyway, some of the tension fading from her shoulders. “You are incorrigible.”

 

Her favorite thing to do by far though, is to stay in bed for hours after they should be up. There’s no rush here. No schedule to adhere to, nothing to see here, nestled here in the remote mountains. Today, Luisa turns Rose’s forearm this way and that, studying it in the midmorning light.

“What are these from?” she asks, tracing her fingers over nicks, scratches, and old scars.

A pause.

“Living,” Rose says, watching her warily.

“Will you tell me about this one?” she runs her fingertips over a bumpy patch on the outside of her elbow.

“I was biking to the library and they’d just laid down fresh gravel. Took a turn too fast and fell off my bike. Slid a few feet on my elbow. It was a bloody mess. I patched myself up and wore long sleeves for the rest of summer. I think there might still be some gravel embedded in there.”

“And this one?” she asks, touching a faint shiny spot on her wrist.

“Burned myself making peanut butter cookies to surprise my mom on Mother’s Day. She yelled at me for using the oven by myself because I was seven. They didn’t turn out great either.”

“This one?” she asks, turning her palm over to look at a gray spot.

“Stuck myself with a freshly sharpened pencil by accident in eighth grade.”

“What about this one?” There’s a small gouge on one of her long fingers.

“I was making a house call. The client had a bird that wouldn’t shut up. He went to go get something upstairs and I was trying to get it to be quiet and it decided it didn’t like me sticking my fingers in its cage.”

“How long ago?”

Rose twists her mouth. “Two years.”

“Did you learn your lesson?”

“No, I learned that birds are assholes.”

Luisa grins, gazing up at her. She notices a triangular scar a few inches to the left of one of her eyes. “What’s that one from?” She touches it gently.

“Oh, I was sliding around on ice with the other kids during recess. I tried to do a fancy glide on one foot, like ice skaters do, and I got kicked in the face with some kid’s shoe. Had to get stitches.”

“That’s not very impressive. The next time someone asks you about that scar, you should make it more dramatic. Say you were kicked with a skate instead of a shoe.”

“You want me to lie?” Rose asks softly.

“Not to me. To other people. Like this.” She lifts her leg to show Rose an off-color stripe of skin below her knee. “I tell everyone this is from when German kidnappers took me hostage.”

Rose frowns. “What really happened?”

“No clue. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. But what an icebreaker, right?”

Rose sighs indulgently. “I don’t think I can come up with anything quite that exciting.”

“It’s not that hard. Just throw together something violent, exotic locale, and a good dose of humorous tragedy. Instant compelling storyline.”

“Hmm” is all Rose says, pressing a kiss to Luisa’s head as she continues to play with her fingers.

Luisa files all these nuggets of information away, bloated on all these small secret details of Rose’s life. She thinks she’s finally getting a blurry look at the finished picture of who she is.

 

And here, Luisa feels safe enough to talk about her mother.

“Sometimes I wonder if she’d be proud of me,” she says quietly one night while they’re laying on the balcony, watching for shooting stars.

Rose turns her head to look at her. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Luisa sighs. “For every good thing I’ve ever done, I’ve fucked up three things. I don’t know what I believe in, exactly, but I hope she’s somewhere good and I don’t know, sending me good vibes every once in a while.”

Rose takes her hand.

“I’m so scared of completely forgetting about her,” Luisa whispers. “There are so many days that go by that I don’t even think of her.”

“You were only six when she died.”

“Children start to develop long-term memory when they’re two to four. The only thing I remember about her is that she used to tell me a fairy tale about a magic lake. What kind of daughter forgets her own mother?”

“Nice try, doctor, but studies show children don’t permanently retain long-term memories until seven.”

“But Rose, I don’t _know_ her anymore. Everything I know about her: that she was fierce, that she loved me, that she had a psychotic break and died, those are all things my dad told me about her. I don’t remember any of it. What if…” She swallows past the lump in her throat. “What if that’s what happens to me?”

“Which part?”

“What if it’s fated for me to go the same way?” She gives a broken little laugh. “I’ve already got a history of hallucinations, not to mention the alcoholism.”

Rose squeezes her hand. “You are not your mother, Luisa. You are whatever you choose to be, whatever you choose to do. You might have a genetic predisposition to certain disorders, but that doesn’t mean that you have to stand by and accept it. You might not know what you believe in spiritually, but believe in free will.”

“Maybe.”

They watch the sky in contemplative silence, Luisa stroking Rose’s hand with a thumb when she points at the sky with the other. “Oh look! There’s one. Make a wish!”

Rose looks over at Luisa, staring up at the stars with such unabashed wonder, and knows exactly what to wish for.

 

As the days go on, Luisa finds herself determined to hold onto every moment. She’s acutely aware that their two weeks are nearly up. But of course, time has a disconcerting way of speeding up the more you wish it would slow down.

Today finds them still in bed, well into the afternoon. Luisa’s forgotten what day of the week it is. They all seem to blend together into a haze of contentment. Rose is sitting up, propped against the pillows and reading the Wall Street Journal. Luisa is splayed out over the covers, her head in Rose’s lap and reading _Cleansing Your Life of Negative Energy for Dummies_ sideways.

She’s struck suddenly by the domesticity of the scene. It seems like they’re in a separate plane of existence, away from reality. This could never be their life. Not with their circumstances. They’re in the eye of the storm. They’ll have to go back to furtive trysts in a few days. She closes her book and sets it aside, turning onto her side so she can press her head against Rose’s body and hear her stomach gurgle, like that will stop time from slipping away.

Rose folds her newspaper so she can hold it with one hand and strokes Luisa’s hair away from her face with the other. Luisa closes her eyes and tries to enjoy it, but she’s too anxious about this ending. She sighs and squeezes a pillow against herself.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks softly, setting the newspaper down on one of the nightstands.

“Nothing.” Luisa keeps her eyes shut and presses herself closer to Rose. “Everything’s perfect.” But she can’t hide the wistfulness that seeps into her voice.

Rose sighs. “Is it something I did?”

Luisa sits up. “No. No, of course not.” She reaches up and holds Rose’s face in her hands. Rose gazes solemnly back at her. “I’m just...I wish we could stay here forever.”

Rose looks sad and exhausted. “Me too.”

Luisa leans in and kisses her tenderly. “Thank you for making this happen.”

She starts to get up, ready to throw something together for a very late brunch, when Rose stops her by taking her hand. “Listen Luisa, I'm not good at talking about my feelings. You'll never hear a heartfelt confession of what I feel for you, not because I don't feel it, but because I can't articulate it. But rest assured that you...do things to me." She frowns. "Goddammit, that sounded better in my head."

Luisa smiles. “I think you have all the right things to say. You seduced me, didn’t you?”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Excuse me, I’m not the one who walked into a bar with _that_ dress and asked to buy you a drink. That’s classic. That’s as old school seduction as you can get.”

Rose gives her that smile. “You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“What do I do to you?”

Rose pulls her onto her lap. “Let me show you.”

…

When they go home, things go back to normal. The loss is sharper now that Luisa knows what they could have. She is sick of the isolation, the deception, the guilt, but she can’t stop either. She’s in too deep.

And then it happens.

During one of their family dinners at the Marbella restaurant, Emilio pushes his chair back and gets down on one knee in front of everyone and pulls out a ring box. “Rose Leigh Callahan, will you make me the happiest man alive?”

Luisa’s grin from one of Raf’s jokes freezes on her face.

There’s an imperceptible delay before Rose gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, yes! Emilio, yes!”

He slips the ring onto her finger and kisses her.

Luisa thinks Rose’s eyes are dull. It seems like she’s only going through the motions, like everything’s been scripted and practiced until every movement is perfect. But then again, Luisa is biased. She could be imagining it. But she hopes that Rose is feeling an ounce of dread she does. Her stomach is roiling. She feels like she’s just been sucker punched.

The staff come out of the kitchen and crowd around them, throwing around congratulations and popping bottles of champagne.

For the first time in a long time, Luisa isn’t tempted by the alcohol. Not yet, anyway. She can barely begin to comprehend that this is actually happening. She’s still trying to process it, sitting there and staring off into space with that terrible rictus grin.

It is in this moment that she finally realizes that Rose will never put her first over whatever compels her to stay with her father.

The shock is wearing off now, and something heavy and viscous like sorrow is settling into her bones.

Rafael pulls Rose into a hug and yells, “Welcome to the family!” above the din. It’s purely for appearance’s sake. He does this with every potential new stepmother.

Rose locks gazes with Luisa over his shoulder but Luisa can’t tell what she’s thinking. Is she satisfied? Does she feel trapped? Does she feel like her lungs are being crushed by resignation and despair like Luisa does?

Luisa finds herself going over there and shaking her hand on autopilot. “Congratulations,” she says in this awful robotic voice. “I hope you two are very happy together.”

“Luisa…” It’s a plea.

She can’t be here right now. It’s not just that her heart is being broken. It hurts all the more because she knew it was coming, and chose to ignore it. She covered her eyes and thought if she didn’t look, then maybe it wouldn’t happen. That maybe this time would be different. She has no one else to blame but herself for her gullibility.

Everyone’s plastic smiles start to blur together. Rose will be her father’s fifth wife. What are the chances that she’ll be his last? She knows everyone’s thinking it. But no one mentions it, too busy congratulating them.

She slips out into the gardens, walking until she finds a bench. Although the ugly weight is expanding, rising, settling as a lump in her throat, she is so devastated she doesn’t even have the strength to cry. She stares at the fountain unseeingly.

Rafael is the one who finds her there later. He takes a seat next to her and puts his elbows on his knees. “So here we go again, huh?”

“Yeah,” she croaks.

“I know it’s hard, another stepmother our age—”

“She’s three years younger than I am.”

“Yeah, but they seem really happy. I think this one is gonna work out.”

“That’s what you said about Priscilla. Look how well that turned out.”

“Okay well I’ve learned better. There were warning signs that I missed because I just wanted Dad to be happy.”

Luisa is struck by a bolt of guilt. This is absolutely about their father’s happiness. She shouldn’t be upset over losing something she never had in the first place.

“Of course he deserves to be happy. Sorry about all that back there. I just had to, uh, get away from all that champagne.”

“I’m so glad you’re fighting so hard to stay sober.” Rafael drapes an arm around her and pulls her into him. She lays her head on his shoulder and he leans his cheek over her head. She misses when she was taller than him. When she was the responsible big sister and comforted him whenever something bad happened. Everyone seems so backwards now. “And remember. No matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.”

“Yeah,” she says. And that’s what starts the tears. They drip onto his shirt but he doesn’t say anything.

They sit there and listen to the happy burbling of the fountain for a while.

...

Luisa’s been avoiding Rose for the past week. She doesn’t respond to any of her texts. She puts her phone on silent when Rose starts to call nonstop. Now Rose has resorted to showing up at her home and banging on the door.

“Luisa, I know you’re in there! When are you going to be an adult about this?”

Luisa pulls the covers up over her head until Rose leaves.

Her phone buzzes half an hour later. She doesn’t care as long as it’s not Rose. “Hello?”

“Luisa Alver?” an unfamiliar girl’s voice asks.

“Yes?”

“This is your ubereats driver. I’ve got an order of mac and cheese, mozzarella sticks, nachos, and mini donuts for you?”

“I didn’t order any of that.”

“It’s all been paid for. I just deliver it. Oh wait, there’s a note with the donuts. It says ‘I’m sorry’?”

Luisa’s stomach growls. She’s been spending the past week in a daze, going to work and then going home and spending hours in the shower or laying in bed or watching mindless TV. Of course Rose knows she hasn’t been taking care of herself.

She presses the button to let her in. “Come on up.”

When she opens her door though, Rose is standing there next to the delivery girl, who looks very small and scared next to a glaring Rose.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you!” Rose snaps.

“After all the effort I’d gone through ignoring you, I thought maybe you’d get the hint!”

“That doesn’t change that we have matters of importance to discuss!”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Luisa, please, not in front of the children.”

The girl looks between the both of them in bewilderment, still holding out the boxes.

“Oh I’m sorry. Give me one second to get your tip.” Luisa plods over to the kitchen table to grab her wallet but when she turns back around, Rose has shut the door and is making her way over to her with the food.

“Don’t worry. I tipped her myself. Now sit down and eat something. I know you don’t eat when you’re upset.”

Luisa barks a laugh. “Upset? I rounded upset a few bases ago.”

“I know it’s not ideal…”

“This is the opposite of ideal.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“Stop! Just stop giving me these stock responses. At least give me honesty. You owe me at least that much.”

Rose nods. “Okay. You’re right.”

“So? What did you want to talk about?”

“Will you please eat something? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

Luisa is starving but she also doesn’t want to eat. She doesn’t want to acknowledge Rose’s concern for her. It’s out of place. They can’t have this anymore.

“I’m going to force feed you if you don’t at least take a bite.” Luisa isn’t sure if she’s serious or not. “Please? It’s all your favorite foods. I made sure.”

Luisa would flip the table if she had the upper body strength. “You don’t get to do this!”

“Do what?” There’s a dangerous current of frustration in her voice. “Care about you?”

“Yes! We’re nothing to each other!”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“It’ll have to be, now that you’re engaged to my father!”

Rose folds her arms. The rock on her finger glints as it catches the light. Luisa feels a little like retching. “It didn’t matter when we were both in committed relationships, I don’t see how it makes a difference now. It’s a little late to carry on an affair for as long as we have and draw lines in the sand now.”

“So what, you just want to keep cheating on him even though you’re marrying him?”

“We both knew this was going to happen.”

Luisa can see it now, the years stretching before her, more of the same. The secrecy, the lies, the anxiety. She is so tired. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rose rears back. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“You can stay with him and we end this now, or you leave him and we can finally be together. For real. But I can’t do this anymore.”

“I…” Rose’s eyes are frantic. “What about you? Allison?”

“If you chose me, I’d leave everything for you.”

Rose looks pained. She laughs, despairing. “What would the scandal do to you? To your reputation? Your father’s?”

“Don’t pretend to care about him now. You picked this. You could back out. It’s still your choice.”

There’s something warring in Rose’s expression. But at least a part of it is temptation.

“Please,” Luisa says, catching her wrist and holding it between her palms. She can feel Rose’s jackrabbit pulse. Tears start to prick at her eyes. She wants to be someone’s first choice, for once. “We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start over. Just me and you. I could build an entire life around you.”

Rose gazes into her eyes, agonized. Luisa stares back, willing her tears not to fall. She’s said her piece and now she waits for Rose to make a decision either way. It reminds her of that night when Rose held her for the first time after Fort Lauderdale and waited for her to say yes.

But Rose does not say yes.

“I can’t.” Luisa is heartbroken but not surprised. “I can’t do that to your father.”

"What do you want?" She clutches at her arms, tears freely sliding down her cheeks now. "What can he give you that I can’t? Rose, I could give you anything you wanted, whatever you wanted, far away from here. Please don't do this. Don’t marry him. You don't love him.” Her voice cracks. “I could make you happy."

Her expression is hard and flinty but she can make out a glimmer of what she thinks is heartbreak in her eyes. "This isn't what you think it is, Luisa. I don't have a choice."

"What do you mean? Of course you have a choice! No one's forcing you to marry my father."

Rose struggles to find words. Luisa hates that she finds it endearing. “There’s something I need to take care of first but after that, I swear to you, we’ll be together.” She caresses Luisa’s wet cheek, wiping away tears with a thumb.

“Why? What is it?”

Rose bites her lip, torn. “I can’t explain it. There are things at stake here that are bigger than you and me.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“To protect you.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. Keeping me in the dark and protecting me are two different things. This isn’t some kind of unnecessarily dramatic telenovela twist that will change my life forever. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Rose worries her lip. “I really don’t think so.”

"Fine. Fine!" She's full-out sobbing now but her anger is reaching its boiling point. "This is your choice. We’re breaking up. Whatever you want to call it. It’s over."

"Luisa, please." Rose reaches out for her and she feels sick that she still wants to be held by her so badly. She is so very close to taking it all back and giving in again. But as much as she wants Rose, she wants not to hurt anymore.

"Don't try to pacify me!” She throws her arms off. “This is enough. I've had enough. I’m done waiting for you. I'm not going to be your backup, your second choice. I don't want to hide anymore."

"Okay," Rose says. "Okay." Her lips are drawn thin with distress. "That's fair. You deserve better. But Luisa, I love you.”

She turns her head away. “Don’t. Don’t tell me this now when you’ve made it clear you don’t want to be with me. Don’t use it as a bargaining chip.”

Rose kneels on the floor and takes her hands. “I do, I love you. But I can’t. Not yet.”

“You say you love me but you don’t trust me enough to even tell me what’s going on. Love is supposed to be built on honesty, not lies. And that’s all we have.”

It’s a mark of how distraught Rose is that she doesn’t comment on the Hallmark-worthiness of Luisa’s words. She presses a kiss to her hands. “I lie to everyone else, Luisa, but I've tried my best not to lie to you. I promise, you’ll understand everything one day.”

“Get out,” she says flatly.

“I’m still not leaving until you eat at least one thing.”

Luisa stuffs an entire mozzarella stick in her mouth. “Happy? Now go. We’re done,” she says around a mouthful of cheese, her words muffled and her eyes swollen with tears.

Rose closes her eyes and sighs but she stands up and shuts the door quietly behind her.

Luisa curls up on the floor with the mozzarella sticks and cries herself dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a break from the angst to fangirl over [fanart](https://roisacoloredglasses.tumblr.com/post/179358095110/luisa-please-not-in-front-of-the-children-if) by the amazing roisacoloredglasses!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be some Back to the Future type of shit with how many timeskips I'm pulling, goddamn. Hold on.

If either Rafael or Emilio notice that there’s a new level of cordial frostiness between Rose and Luisa, they don’t mention it. Luisa tries her best not to stare at Rose longingly, but she’s not sure if she quite pulls it off. It does not get easier with time. The simple truth is that she misses her. She misses her sleepy morning warmth and her cutting humor and the way she never knew what to expect from her. Sometimes she’ll catch Rose watching her, but as soon as she meets her eyes, she’ll look away. It’s like having a middle school crush.

Three months later is the big day. Luisa can’t bear to attend the ceremony. She might have knowingly engaged in an affair with her soon-to-be stepmother but she also ended it and she only has so much pain tolerance. Being in love with Rose and being her bridesmaid and seeing her walk down the aisle to marry her father is something she’d rather not subject herself to.

So she makes up an excuse about another doctor that has an unavoidable family emergency that she has to cover for. Something about fetal distress, obstetrical complications, hyperemesis gravidarum. She throws out obgyn terms until everyone at the table is dazzled by science. Her father is disappointed but he nods and accepts her story. Rafael still thinks she’s upset that their father’s getting married again, not to whom. Rose’s eyes cut through her though. She sees right through her flimsy excuse.

She does not however, manage to escape the whole day’s festivities. She has no excuse handy as to why she wouldn’t be able to make the reception.

On the day of, she shows up for a single hour before the threat of seeing her father and new stepmother slow dance and the everpresent temptation of alcohol give her a splitting headache from wanting what she can’t, shouldn’t have and she bows out. Rose is beautiful, of course she is, radiant with a red dahlia tucked behind an ear. The event is tasteful. Miami’s weather is even cooperating: cool and with an ocean breeze playing through the crowd. It’s perfect and Luisa hates it.

When she gets home, Allison is there with pancakes and her netflix subscription. She’d declined her invitation to the ceremony. “I can’t go to your dad’s wedding without you,” she’d said.

She hands her a plate of pancakes cut out in the shape of ducks after she sits on the couch next to her.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Allison leans her head on her shoulder while they watch _Imagine Me and You_. And it’s easy.

She tries to move on. She does.

Things are better with Allison now that she's fully committed. And she's not going to kid herself. It'll never be the same all-consuming obsession that it was with Rose, but maybe that’s for the better. She and Rose were too volatile, too explosive together. When they were together, nothing else mattered. It’s better this way, the two of them sliding past each other, not close enough to be drawn into each other’s magnetic fields and trigger something ugly with their attraction. And if she sees something like yearning flicker occasionally in Rose’s eyes, she’s probably just a trick of the light.

Allison is safe. She’s always there and she puts her first. Luisa can see them growing old together. This is good enough. Luisa is good enough for her. And that’s rare enough in her life that she’s willing to see how far this relationship goes.

...

Months pass. Life goes on. Rafael meets Petra and falls in love for the first time in a long time. They’re married after a three month courtship. Luisa likes Petra enough, but there’s something unspeakably mournful about her that only lifts when she looks at Rafael. Luisa thinks that she’s never seen two people so in love when they announce that they’re expecting a baby. After dinner, Petra pulls her aside and asks her if she’d consider being her obgyn and future godmother to the baby. Of course Luisa says yes. What else can she say when Petra is so happy? Luisa notices that Rose looks away when she and Petra emerge from the nook by the bathrooms, but she doesn’t catch her expression.

Time has a way of dulling things, sanding away the details until all what’s left is what we felt. What we wish to remember. Luisa knows this. Their affair seems more like a fantasy than anything. It hardly smarts when she sees Rose at dinner now. Sometimes weeks pass before she looks at Rose and thinks, “I have seen you come undone. I have been the reason for it.”

Petra loses the baby. She spends exactly one hour crying in Luisa’s arms before she sniffs, straightens up, and leaves her office. Luisa tries to reach out to her in the following months, but is rebuffed each time. Something changes in Petra and Rafael’s relationship. It grows cold. They no longer have that glow about them when they look at each other. They are burdened by their shared suffering. Petra shows up to dinner sporadically, and then not at all.

“She’s working,” Rafael says shortly when Luisa inquires after her absence. After a while, she learns not to ask anymore.

And then Rafael is diagnosed with cancer. Even though they caught it in its earliest stages, everything changes overnight. Her brother, usually as devil-may-care as they come, becomes waspish and dour. Their father ignores Raf’s lined eyes and hollowing cheeks as he undergoes chemo, and grows shifty whenever the subject comes up. It’s like he doesn’t know how to interact with Rafael now. Petra suddenly pulls herself together and takes charge of everything relating to his care. Luisa does her best to put on a brave face and pretend nothing’s changed, continuing to crack jokes in hopes of making Raf smile, even though she sobs when she’s alone and is wracked with guilt that she craves a drink to deal with the stress when she’s not the one that’s sick.

When the cancer goes into complete remission, she can feel everyone stop waiting with bated breath and start breathing again. Raf is different now, still a dick a lot of the time, but there’s a shadow behind his eyes that never was there before. He's slightly slower to speak now, occasionally weighing his words before he says something. She’s proud and more than a little sentimental that he’s finally grown up a bit.

“I’m never going to be able to have children of my own,” he tells her one night.

They haven’t been talking, just sitting on his suite’s balcony and staring off into space.

“That’s not true. You’ve got that sperm sample that can be unfrozen at any time. You could have a kid if you really wanted to.”

He snorts a laugh. “With Petra? I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs moodily. “We’re no good together anymore. When we first met, it was so easy. Everything was new and exciting. I loved everything about her. But now, all we do is argue. We can hardly stand to be alone in the same room for more than a few hours. I don’t think…I don’t think I love her anymore.” He rubs a hand across his face. “But I feel like I can’t leave her either, not after everything she’s done for me.”

She gets up and wedges herself in next to him on his lounge chair. They are much too old, too big, grown too angular with the disappointments they’ve suffered over the years to fit comfortably together anymore, but she’s gotta do what she’s gotta do to make her brother feel better. He grumbles as he scoots over grudgingly but folds his arms around her when she embraces him. “Do what makes you happy. You deserve all the happiness the world has to give.”

...

Talking with Raf makes her realize that she doesn’t want to half-ass anything in her life anymore. She’s all in.

“Move in with me,” she says one day.

Allison raises her eyebrows. “Wow. Really?”

“Yes? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just a big step. We’ve been seeing each other for years now. You just surprise me, that’s all. I thought you were the antithesis of a Uhaul lesbian.”

“I figured it was time.”

 

Eight months later, she takes a rattling breath and gets down on one knee in front of Allison in the bookstore they first met and takes out her mother’s ring. “Will you marry me?”

She brings Allison to the family dinner that week.

(It’s not the first time, but Allison has confessed that it’s intimidating to be around her family, and Rose especially unnerves her.

Luisa had forced an airy laugh. “Rose? She’s harmless.”)

She pretends not to notice how Rose’s polite smile falters when she breaks the news to everyone. _It’s too late_ , she thinks with vindictiveness. _You had your chance. I made my choice._

Her father raises his seltzer (a surprisingly touching gesture for him, considering he drinks like a fish) to her, beaming. Rafael grins and hugs her so hard, whispering, “You deserve all the happiness the world has to give.”

And Luisa loves that he’s happy for her, but she wishes she felt more validation at his words. They ring false. She is content. But is she happy? Does she deserve happiness, especially when they’ve had such a close call with Rafael? What if she uses up all the luck she’s been allotted by the universe in wishing his cancer away? Maybe she just has to learn to settle instead of always chasing after the horizon.

 

The wedding takes place in the Turks and Caicos, all sun and palm trees and the painfully blue ocean. Allison is the one, she tells herself. She wants to do this right.

Although she’s expecting Rose to rescind her RSVP at the last second, she shows up the day of, sitting primly in the front row. She must be made of sterner stuff than Luisa, or maybe she no longer feels anything for her. Maybe time has dulled their affair to nothing more than a casual fling in her mind. Rose’s face is composed when Luisa and Allison walk down the aisle hand in hand, but her eyes are gentle. Luisa has lost her touch. She can’t quite read her the way she used to. Which is good, she thinks. She squeezes her wife-to-be’s hand. This day is about her, about them. Her past with Rose is of no matter.

They move into a high-rise condo near the beach. They paint the walls themselves, taking breaks to sway together to muted French musette. A stripe of bright orange has dried on Allison’s forehead when she leans into Luisa’s shoulder. She thinks she’s never been more in love.

...

For the most part, she and Rose avoid each other. And when they can't, they are perfectly civil.

Once, Rose's mask slips. She stops her by reaching out to touch Luisa's wrist. Luisa glances down at it before she looks back up into her eyes, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Are you happy?" Rose whispers harshly, like it's some sort of secret.

"Yes, Rose, I'm happy." And she can't help but feel a thrill when her face falls just a miniscule bit.

But then Rose releases her and straightens up, brushing down her skirt. "Well, I'm glad," she says, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

And Luisa kind of hates that she's still mesmerized by the movement.

...

A year passes. Two. Life is good. They've all settled into a rhythm that everyone knows the dance to. Smile and nod, laugh freely, pretend that nothing’s wrong when they’re in the public eye even though everything may be going wrong behind closed doors. Things between Petra and Rafael are still strained but they’re hanging in there. Their father and Rose are so good at playing the happy couple, Luisa can no longer tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fake.

She and Allison are doing well. They have dinner together most nights and have sex on a semi-regular basis. If they start to drift apart, well, Luisa credits that to Allison’s busy schedule and the natural conversion of romantic love into platonic love. This is just what marriage is like for everyone, right?

And then everything falls apart.

Luisa goes home after Rafael’s party and walks in on Allison in bed with her assistant.

Luisa is disgusted and shocked, of course, but not that much. That distance that they’ve been feeling makes sense. It feels like jolting awake after a dream. How foolish of her to think that she would ever stay anyone’s first choice.

When she storms out of their—her condo, she realizes that she doesn’t know where to go. But she really can’t deal with Allison’s apologies now, so she gets in her car and screeches out of the parking lot. She doesn’t want her father’s pithy excuses that this isn’t a big deal, she can find someone else, or Raf’s weary explanations that this is just what happens in a marriage. She wants to laugh, she wants to sob. What a family. Broken marriages all around. Everyone gets one.

Except for her father. Raf is right. Her father still loves Rose—hasn’t grown bored and divorced her—if not as _in love_ , as openly affectionate as he once was (something that Luisa is immensely grateful for). And if Luisa didn’t know better, didn’t see the nanosecond of hesitation before Rose leans into his kisses or touches, she would think she loved him too. But it’s all a farce.

Falling in love they all do recklessly, but the Solanos must have especially bad luck when it comes to staying in love.

 

She sleeps in her office. Well, she lays on her chaise longue and stares at the moon and its reflection on the bay in the distance. There’s not a lot of sleeping involved.

So she’s exhausted and heartbroken and has a painful crick in her neck when she makes her life-altering mistake.

In the span of a half hour, she’s managed to destroy everything she’s spent years building up to. In one fell swoop, she’s lost her brother, her career, her wife. There’s no one on her side. No one to turn to. She can feel the panic tighten around her neck like noose. But knowing that it’s happening does nothing to stave it off.

Her world is collapsing in on itself, and she doesn’t even have the alcohol to blame for this time around. Speaking of which, she is suddenly very thirsty. More than anything, she wants to get blackout drunk for the oblivion it would grant her. A respite from her woes for a few hours. To rest. She knows the problems will be there afterwards, perhaps even thornier than they are now, but what she wouldn’t give for just a reprieve, as temporary as it may be.

Something becomes clear to her through the haze. Drinking might a short-term solution, but the emptiness she craves could be permanent. She is spent. She doesn’t want to feel anymore. She doesn’t want to keep trying so hard at everything in life just to end up treading water at best and at worst turn up empty handed for all her efforts again and again. Maybe it’s time to stop. To give up. Maybe it’s time to give in to fate if it’s been pushing her in this direction all along. She doesn’t want to fight anymore.

She has tried so, so hard to be successful. To be stable. To turn herself around despite all the factors working against her: her alcoholism, her mental health, her genetics. But in the end, it always comes back to her mother. She is just like her mother. Maybe it’s poetic that her life should end like hers. Mirroring hers.

She drives to a bridge above the bay and parks on the shoulder, her hazard lights flashing. Cars rush by and honk at her, but she doesn’t flinch. She is about to kill herself. She is past giving any fucks. It’s freeing, to be able to choose the outcome instead of waiting for the fallout.

She waits for a lull in traffic before she takes off her heels and climbs over the railing. She doesn’t want any good samaritans stopping her with false promises about how much they care about her. Now that she’s made up her mind, everything is sharp and clear. These are the steps she has to take to reach her goal.

She is almost calm, as she stares down at the dark ripples, so far beneath her. Most of her wants to let go, not so much jump as fall, let the water swallow her whole and carry her out to sea, where she won’t have to feel anymore. But a very small part of her, the basic animal instinct that has kept her and all her ancestors alive up to this point, fights against her. She is an oxymoronic mix of primal fear and sedated acceptance.

Well, she’s always been a mind over matter sort of girl.

This is it.

But as she’s trying to talk herself into jumping, her phone rings.

She supposes dying can wait a minute.

“Rose?”

“I still love you, Luisa. I always will. Never doubt that.”

If this had happened yesterday, she would’ve told her to fuck off. She doesn’t need her. She doesn’t need the reminder that they’ll never be together. But in this moment, it feels like a sign. It’s exactly what she needs to hear to change her mind. That there’s still one person that cares about her even though she keeps fucking up.

“Thanks,” Luisa whispers.

Of course, sixteen seconds after she hangs up, she remembers that Rose is maybe the only person who can help her in this situation. She redials.

“Hello?”

“Hey, no rush, but are you free to meet up, like in my office, tomorrow at 11? I might be in a little bit of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Oh you know, normal doctor trouble. It could quite possibly be considered an emergency.”

“...can you elaborate?”

“I think it’s better if I tell you in person.”

“Luisa, you’re worrying m—”

“Great, see you then!”

She takes a moment to close her eyes and breathe, to appreciate that she was literally on the edge of death and is now taking a step back. And then she climbs back over the railing and gets back into her car, her heels dangling from a hand. She throws them onto the passenger seat and squeezes the polyurthane of the steering wheel, relishing in the feel and the sound it makes under her hands. It feels surreal to simply be alive.

Luisa feels like she talked herself into putting on metaphorical blinders and a minute conversation with Rose has pulled those away. Yes, she’s going to lose her license if anything happens. Yes, her family is going to be disappointed in her. Again. (What else is new?) Yes, her wife cheated on her. But are those things worth dying over? Her career isn’t her whole life. Her family will forgive her because family is everything. Allison is not the end all, be all of her love life. Despite everything, there’s the smallest spark of hope that things will get better. It doesn’t feel like the right decision by any means, heading back into this hell of a mess. She’s already dreading having to even look through the details of her malpractice insurance, but she also feels high on the relief that she didn’t jump.

She spends the night marveling at her strong, steady heartbeat.

 

Rose comes in five minutes early the next day.

Luisa doesn’t know how to feel about this. There’s a dangerous need for comfort buoying up under her fear and despair when she sees Rose, alone again. But she stays calm and explains the situation. Rose’s advice is to say nothing about it since she’s on probation after one time (or three) of showing up to work drunk. Not only could she lose her license, but she might lose Raf’s hotel shares as well if Jane decides to sue. This is what she does. She’s an earthquake. Her own life might be at the epicenter, being shaken apart, but her actions ripple outwards, affecting those she loves as well.

It’s harder to stay positive after hearing Rose’s professional opinion, but before she can return to the pit of despair, Rose frowns and asks, “You’re very pale. Have you eaten anything?”

“Uh…”

“ _When_ was the last time you ate?”

She hates that Rose knows her this well. Hates that this exchange carries an echo of when they broke off their affair.

Luisa scrunches up her face in thought. “I had a midmorning snack. Yesterday.”

Rose sighs. “Stay here. Try not to faint. I’ll be right back with some muffins and coffee.”

“Oh you don’t have—” Luisa starts to say, but Rose silences her with a look that says _we’ve been through too much for you to pretend we’re strangers now_.

“Let me do this one thing for you.”

This small kindness makes her nearly want to cry. “Thanks,” she says, so softly it’s just shy of a whisper.

When Rose leaves, she collapses in her chair and leans back, swivelling back and forth. Feelings that she thought fizzled out a long time ago are starting to spark to life again. Rose doesn’t feel that way anymore. She might’ve meant what she said in a completely platonic way. Luisa should take it at face value and think of it as something that saved her life instead of reading more into it. She jerks upright and scrabbles in her desk drawer for the unopened bottle of vodka she keeps on hand. She needs to ground herself. She needs to realize what’s important right now and look on the bright side. That’s all that matters right now. Making it through one day at a time.

That’s how Rose finds her when she gets back. She is understandably upset at first but Luisa shows her that it’s still sealed. Everything makes sense when Rose isn’t in the room with her. She’s almost convinced herself that she’s okay. That she can survive the probable malpractice lawsuit with Rose’s support and leave it at that.

But then Rose sits down next to her and everything goes staticy. She suddenly can’t remember why she should ignore the way her heart yearns for Rose so strongly it’s nearly physically painful to be this close to her and not touch her. But she holds out, restraining herself, until Rose tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Even this slight contact makes all her nerve endings light up like a live wire. She’s half hoping, half dreading Rose will pull back and admonish her for her presumption when she catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

But Rose shivers under her kiss, just like all those years ago.

“Oh we can’t,” she says, breathy.

“I know.” Luisa does. She’s more certain than anything else in her life right now that this is a bad idea. She’s mostly been free of the sick jealousy that plagued their relationship for years now. But she is also terrified and distraught and craving some reassurance that at least one thing still makes sense. She knows this is the wrong place to look for it. She knows that the same reasons why they ended it still apply. She knows this will destroy whatever stability in her life she has left. She should know better. But she gives in anyway.

She keeps expecting Rose to push her away. To come to her senses and say nothing’s changed. That it’s just another mistake. But she follows when Luisa draws back, sighs and yields to her hands like it's been no time at all. Rose kisses her like she's been starving for days, weeks, years.

And for the first time in several days, Luisa’s mind quiets. The way Rose responds to her is a balm to her anxiety. This is the one thing she can do well. Everything else may be shattering around her, but isn’t it worth indulging in this one temptation if it’s the only good thing she has in her life right now? She just wants to feel okay again, even if it’s fleeting.

Her problems will be waiting for her when this is over, but for now, Luisa loses herself in pretending with Rose once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin Lover Narrator: And the rest, as they say...is history.

**Author's Note:**

> Who's not dead? Sound off.


End file.
